Humans and Plants
by Eden Evergreen
Summary: (VQL # 7) Beginning 1035 years post-manga, time continues its inexorable march forward. This has different effects on humans than on plants, but both feel its movement.
1. Time

_I do not own Vash the Stampede or Rem; they belong to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow._

_This tale begins 1035 years post-manga (different final battle and results than the anime). Hopefully it should be able to stand alone. However, it is also a sequel to "Loss."_

**Time**

Rem sat back and sighed contentedly as the light from the setting suns poured in through the windows. Shyla's cooking was always a joy to eat.

When she left the Saverem residence to marry William, she'd asked Shyla to write down several recipes that included most of her favorite dishes. She used those recipes often. Yet, somehow, Shyla kept coming up with others that she liked at least equally well.

"I want that recipe," she said, and enjoyed Shyla's bashful smile of pleasure.

"I'll get it for you," Shyla promised.

"Good idea," William agreed, grinning. "I could stand eating this more often."

Rem reached out and swatted her husband's shoulder. "Are you suggesting that my cooking isn't as good?" she demanded playfully.

Vash started laughing as William put up his hands defensively, though her husband didn't stop grinning. "Of course not!" he protested. "I just like this, too."

By this time, the children were all laughing, too. Milly was trying to conceal her snickering behind her hand. Ranita and young Vash sat there giggling helplessly. Even young William Junior, sitting in his high chair, joined in with his own shrill chuckles.

Rem smiled at her family, both immediate and extended. She loved these weekly gatherings, when all who were in town would come together and enjoy each other's company. She hoped the tradition would continue, even after she could no longer participate.

She glanced at her adopted son, Vash, and hoped her actual passing would not wound him as severely as his belief that she'd died had done. Thankfully, he had his own wife and children now. He wouldn't have to face the loss alone, when the time came.

Her glance moved to Shyla, Vash's wife. Her daughter-in-law, also an independent plant, was just beginning to clear dishes. Rem rose to join her. She followed Shyla's example of hugging each person as she passed them and collected their dishes.

Vash Saverem picked up little Vash Reeve, who was only five years old. Milly, Vash's youngest, instantly moved to William Junior's high chair and started getting him out of it. William (Senior) was helping little Ranita out of her chair.

Ranita Reeve was seven, but petite for her age. She still needed assistance with things like that from time to time. She had her father's flaming red hair, and the face of a pixie.

Vash Reeve, Rem and William's older son, had inherited his mother's dark hair but his father's blue eyes. That coincidence of coloring had been part of the reason he was named after his adopted brother. William Junior was almost a miniature of his father.

Milly Saverem had golden-blonde hair the same shade as her father's had been in his youth, and her features favored him. However, she also had her mother's pale hazel-green eyes. Milly was currently finishing her degree in teaching. Several schools around No Man's Land were hoping to hire her when she finished, even though she was barely twenty years old and looked like a human in her middle teens.

Rem joined Shyla at the sink, plunging her hands into the soapy water and let her mind wander just a little longer. Shyla was such a quiet and gentle soul. She'd not mistake a companionable silence for anything rude.

Vash and Shyla's older nine children were scattered all over the world. Half had become law enforcement officers, like their father's current job. The other half were mostly healers like their mother, though Sheryl had gone into teaching as her youngest sister Milly was in the process of doing.

Rem was proud of all her children and grandchildren. Part of her wanted to have another child, but she had lately felt that her body was indeed aging. Perhaps three children would be enough? She'd have to decide, soon. If she had another, it should be done immediately - while she still had the energy to keep up with a very young child.

She'd spent many centuries in cryo sleep, waking for only a few days at a time. Because of this, it was nearly impossible to accurately calculate her subjective age. The Seeds doctors speculated that her functional physical age was around 35.

By the calendar, she'd been born around 1275 years ago. Yet she was glad that various circumstances had allowed her to be alive today. If she'd lived her life and died so long ago, she'd never have met William nor had opportunity to know Shyla nor see Vash living happily with his wife and children.

Vash... she glanced over her shoulder at her adopted son, grown into a fine man. He was on the floor, wrestling with William and their children, laughing gleefully. Would having another of her biological children to cherish make it easier for him, when her own time ran out?

_Enough with the melancholy thoughts_, Rem scolded herself. _Enjoy this evening before it gets away_. She smiled and turned her head toward Shyla, and spoke softly. "It's been awhile since you had any children," she said. "Is everything all right between you and Vash?"

Shyla blinked in surprise, and her cheeks grew pink. "We're fine," she said. "We just started taking pills. We wanted to raise these, and not neglect any of them while they grew. If we had any more, right away, we might be too busy with the younger ones to be good parents to the older."

Rem nodded. "Ah, good," she said, trying to keep her sudden mischievous mood from showing itself in her voice. "I was worried that you might have had a quarrel, and started sleeping separately."

Shyla's blush deepened. "No," she said very softly. "We still... that is..." Her face grew still redder. "It's not like I became pregnant _every_ time. There were at least three months after each birth when it seemed impossible. Naturally, after I was already expecting, I couldn't get pregnant again."

Rem giggled softly. It was difficult to avoid teasing Shyla about that subject, since she always blushed so prettily and sincerely when it came up. Yet that was the most she'd ever managed to pry out of her daughter-in-law. She must have caught her in an unusually communicative mood.

She leaned closer to Shyla, and said barely above a whisper, "I do hope you're not letting him bully you into more than you're inclined for."

Shyla dropped the dish she'd been washing back into the soapy water in the sink. Her blush had reached to her collar-bones and ears. "It is his idea oftener than mine," she confessed very softly, "but he's always so gentle and he always feels so good... it's never long before I grow inclined, also."

Rem reached an arm around her daughter-in-law and hugged her briefly, before returning to scrubbing dishes. "I'm glad," she said. "I can see that you're good for him. It helps to know that he's good for you, too."

"He's always been good for me," Shyla said, her blush finally receding as her eyes shone.

"I begin to think he's good for everyone," Rem said thoughtfully. "I'm glad he's not limited to an ordinary human lifespan. This world will still need him, for a long time yet."

She saw Shyla's nod from the corner of her eye. "He's so beautiful," she said, barely above a whisper. "And he has a way of bringing out the inner beauty of others, too."

"I almost wish I could take credit for some of that," Rem said. "I think it was already in him, though, right from the very start."

Shyla paused in her dish-washing to look first at Vash, still playing on the floor with the children, and then at her. "I think you helped," she said. "Your love of him specifically, and also of life in general, touched something deep inside him. He might not have clung to what's right as tightly as he did, without that from you. The memory of you helped him to get through many of the hardest times in his life."

Suddenly Rem felt misty-eyed. Shyla was not a flatterer. She was saying what she honestly believed to be true, and it was high praise. She hugged her again. "Thank you for that," she said, and smiled.

Shyla hugged her back, and they returned their attention to finishing with the dishes.

As they finished drying the dishes and putting them away, the mayhem in the sitting area grew slightly less. Suddenly she felt fingers in her hair, and turned to see Vash standing behind them. He had an odd expression on his face.

Shyla reached toward her, but Vash reached out and caught her wrist before Shyla could touch her. He frowned, looking at Shyla, and Rem sensed that they were communicating telepathically.

She watched Shyla's expression change from surprise to bewilderment to shock and finally to tears, under Vash's glare. Suddenly, Vash put his arms around both of them, holding Shyla almost fiercely as Shyla's initial tears transformed into heartbroken sobs.

"Is something wrong?" Rem asked gently, concerned by what she saw.

Vash leaned his cheek on Shyla's head, briefly turned his face to kiss her hair, and then looked at his adopted mother. "Have you ever felt anything... unusual... when Shyla touched you?" he asked.

Rem blinked at the unexpected question, but thought about it. "Yes," she said. "I guess she does so much healing that there's a bit of energy residue in her hands. There's always a warm tingling that lingers for a short while after she touches me."

"Every time?" he said, and then swallowed hard. He looked back down at Shyla, still weeping and leaning her head against his shoulder. His arm tightened around his wife again. "No more," he said softly. "I can't lose both of you."

Shyla turned and put her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder.

"It's not residue," Vash said softly. "I'd wondered why the black streak in her hair was still, slowly, growing wider. I just found out. I'm sorry, Rem. I can't let her do that anymore."

_It wasn't residue?_ Rem found herself leaning into Vash's gentle embrace as she felt a little dizzy. _All these years, has Shyla been spending herself to improve my health? I felt that warm tingle _every time _she touched me. It never entered my mind that she might be risking her own life for my sake. It probably should have._

Rem turned to hug both Vash and Shyla. "I had no idea," she said softly.

Vash nodded, again leaning his cheek against the top of his wife's head. "I know," he said gently. "As long as she had the energy to spare, I would not have objected. But now..." he said, and fell silent.

It was difficult to say it, but it needed saying. "Thank you, Shyla," she said, "I appreciate the thought. But I agree with Vash. I don't want you killing yourself for my sake. I know I'm human, with a short span of years to enjoy living. I accept that. Don't weigh down whatever time I have left with worries that it's killing someone else, too, ok?"

After a moment Shyla nodded, but her sobbing did not lessen.

"I'll take care of her," Vash said softly. "Please, look after the others?"

Rem nodded, squeezed both of them again, and then stepped out of the hug. Vash released her, and she turned toward the others and saw them looking concerned. She smiled, hoping that alone would reassure them. There was a lump in her throat, making it difficult to speak.

She walked over to her husband, sat and snuggled against his side. He put his arm around her, and held her close.

"We were about to read or tell a story," Milly said, her eyes large with concern. "Unless there's something else you'd rather do?"

Rem swallowed, and it took her two tries, but she finally managed to sound reasonably cheerful as she said, "A story sounds like a wonderful idea."

She smiled and nodded at Milly. The plant girl opened the book she held, and began turning pages. A picture was recognized, and the children called for that story to be read. Milly smiled, smoothed the pages, and began reading.

...

After four stories, the children were yawning widely. William Junior was asleep on his father's lap. Vash and Shyla had joined them during the stories, careful not to disturb the nodding children.

"I always dislike it when these evenings end," Rem's husband said. "However, it looks like it's time to take them home."

"I'll walk you home," Vash offered.

Rem nodded permission, since it would otherwise be difficult to carry all three children.

The six of them walked to the Reeve home, the three adults carrying the three sleepy children. When all of the children were safely tucked into their beds, the three adults gathered in the front sitting area.

"So," Rem said, looking at Vash. "What's on your mind?"

"Can we sit and talk just a little?" he asked. "There's an offer I'd like to make, and it's a little awkward."

"Of course," William said, gesturing.

They sat, and Vash fidgeted for a moment. Rem noticed that his eyes were still red, from earlier in the evening. "I would like to offer your family a gift," he said, looking down at the floor. "I'm not meaning to intrude; I just want to do something for you."

"What might this gift be?" William asked, glancing at Rem.

Rem had no idea, but suspected it might be connected to the earlier conversation with Shyla. She shrugged, and waited silently.

"I know you will want to provide for your children's lives, and I wouldn't intrude on that," Vash began. He sat leaning forward, with his elbows resting on his knees. He looked not at them, but at the ground by their feet.

"However, I also know that, as much as we might wish it were otherwise, nobody lives forever," he continued. "I would like to provide a place for each of you to be buried, when ever your times come. I would do this for both of you, and also for all of your descendants who wish it."

Rem saw the slight quiver in his chin as he spoke those words, though his voice remained calm. She glanced at her husband, who simply looked surprised. She reached out and took William's hand, and then squeezed it fondly.

"That's a very generous offer," she said. She looked at Vash thoughtfully. "Are you sure?"

"I've spoken with Shyla, and we have reached an agreement," he said, still looking at the floor. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Then thank you," Rem said. She looked pointedly at her husband, who still looked a little dazed. She squeezed his hand again, and he blinked.

"Yes, thank you," he said. "This is very unexpected. However, I know you will do right by us."

Vash looked up, and smiled one of his bleaker smiles. "I hope this gift won't be needed for a long time," he said, "but I wanted it settled. Thank you for permitting me this."

Rem nodded mutely, and saw William do the same.

Vash stood, still looking awkward. "I'd best be getting home, no doubt you're tired."

Having an idea what this cost him, she released William's hand to go hug her adopted son. "Thank you, really," she said.

He hugged her back, and then released her. He nodded, and extended a hand to William. Those two didn't hug, but they did shake hands warmly.

"Goodnight" was said all around, and then Vash left to return to his own home.

...

...

...

...

**Author's Note:**_Hopefully, this story should be able to stand alone. However, it is also a sequel to __"Loss." __Prior to that tale comes (in chronological order):__ "Vash's Quiet Life"__ (1__st__),__ "Vash's Long Road to Home" __(2__nd__),__ "Rem Returns" __(3__rd__),__ "Vash Vindicated" __(4__th__),__ "Shared Memories" __(4.5), and__ "Disquieting Days" __(5__th__). I hope you will enjoy all of them that you choose to read._

_There's also an associated "free verse" poem titled__ "Too Late," __and a semi-associated collection of shorter stories,__ "Search for a Stampede."_

_ (Just in case anyone happens to be interested in reading any more of what I imagine might follow the manga's end.) _;-)

_There are also two companion tales to this series written by the highly talented_ "JasperK": "Stasis" _and_ "With This Ring." _Please give them a read, if you haven't already read them. Thanks!_ :)


	2. Frustrations

_I do not own Vash the Stampede; he belongs to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow._

**Frustrations**

The westering suns were beginning to color the sky as night breezes began their first efforts to cool the town.

Vash was tired, after standing around feeling useless all day while Shyla worked. As always, he spent much of his time worrying that she was spending more energy than she should. He didn't want to lose her. He tried to let the evening breeze wash the tension from him, but for some reason it wasn't working very well this evening.

He knew that part of his frustration came from the fact that they were far away from Rem. She was now aging normally, without Shyla's constant doses of enhanced regeneration. He knew that, whenever Rem's time ran out, it would feel far too soon. He didn't like being away from her at all - he wanted to cherish every day that she lived.

"So all of your patients are tended, and we can leave as planned?" Vash asked, snapping up the front of his duster while he watched Shyla do the same with hers.

"Yes," she replied. "Everyone is well along on their road to recovery. The local physicians can tend them now. What they needed me to do has all been done."

"Good," he said. "I don't like having to delay the keeping of a promise." He also didn't like worrying about her. It wouldn't be so bad if he could still extend wings to defend her, but he couldn't. Not anymore.

"And we promised to be punctual, since they have a serious criminal on their hands," she said, remembering and nodding in agreement.

He smiled, again marveling at how well she suited him. Never in a million years would he have imagined that this slender plant girl, who seemed so quiet, out of all the many thousands of females he'd encountered, would become the one to claim his heart. In truth, most of the others had been displeased with him, at least at first.

Though with the others, the first impression they received had been seeing him play the fool. He'd not done that with Shyla, since the girl had immediately sensed his pain. He'd become friends with Shyla and her mother, and later had escorted Shyla to Seeds village for safekeeping. Slowly, over a thousand years, their friendship had grown into something more. A silent prayer of gratitude rose from his heart, without ever touching his lips.

He hoped that he suited her equally well. She always felt and behaved as if he did, but moments of doubt occasionally troubled him. He was determined never to take her for granted, but always to appreciate her.

He watched the way the multicolored evening light played over her face and hair, and enjoyed that view. She turned her face toward him, and he saw that black streak in her hair. It always troubled him when he saw that. He should never have left her side, leaving her vulnerable to attack. He would never make that mistake again.

(Is anything wrong?) she inquired gently, by thought instead of words. (You're so serious all of a sudden.)

(Just admiring the view,) he responded, allowing his deep affection toward her to infuse those thoughts.

She blushed, but smiled and responded with an answering warmth that rivaled his own.

"I ... was wondering," he said hesitantly, "if you'd mind stopping by the lab?"

"It has some of the 'samples' that were taken from him, doesn't it?" she asked gently.

"Yes," he said. Trust her to figure that out, or research it on her own. "They have most of his left arm."

She linked her arm in his. "Of course I'll go with you, silly," she said fondly. "Maybe the ones in charge here will listen to reason. Or maybe the ones in charge will be related to some of the people whose lives I just helped to save."

He smiled. "Or maybe just hearing the request from a 'natural resource' will make a difference."

Her fading blush returned in full force. "Shush," she said. "I'm no better than you. If anything, you should have received that designation long ago... instead of the other."

He leaned toward her, just enough to kiss her hair. "You flatter me too much," he teased. "One day my head may swell too large for my sunglasses to fit anymore!"

His effort was rewarded with a laugh. "As if," she said. "You'd never grow that arrogant, even if there were a thousand of me all showering you with compliments night and day, every day, for the rest of your life."

He tried to imagine that, but somehow the picture wouldn't quite work. "A thousand of you?" he said, pondering aloud. "Even if nothing was said, being so surrounded by you, that sounds like heaven."

She let go of his arm to tickle his ribs. He quickly said, "I surrender!" He knew that her reflexes equaled his own, and that nothing else would persuade her to stop. If she got to his ribs before he could stop her, he was helpless.

Thankfully, she stopped when he surrendered. She reclaimed his arm, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Heaven, for you, should be better than just a lot of me," she said very softly. "Nothing can separate us, unless one of us dies before the other. I won't allow it. So you're stuck with me, you see?"

"Good," he said.

As they emerged from the side street, their poses both turned more formal. It was a habit to appear professional in public, and this street was far busier than the one they left.

"If I recall correctly," Shyla said, "The lab's offices would be located that direction?" She pointed.

"That's what I recall, too," he said. He felt her inner smile as they began walking toward the office.

...

"What do you mean by that?" Shyla said tensely, staring at the man behind the desk.

Vash could feel her frustration. That man had been downright rude to her. It cost him considerable effort to rein in his own temper enough to behave in a civilized manner.

"Do you have any idea how many nutcases come here, demanding bits of the only known male plant body in the keeping of science?" the man replied. "No, you don't get any. No, you don't get to pester my superiors begging for some."

"I am _not_ a nut case, as you so eloquently put it," Shyla's voice was excessively patient, as if speaking to someone either very young or else very stupid. "I am also a plant. I am requesting an opportunity to bury the remains of my brother."

"Yeah, right, and I'm Vash the Stampede," he said sarcastically.

Vash felt his wife's hand on his arm, both physically and mentally. She took offense to the way the man pronounced his old name; that was plain in her emotions. He was more annoyed by the man's rudeness to his wife.

"I have asked politely," Shyla reminded him. "I have offered ID that proves my assertion that I am not exactly an average human like yourself. What more is required to make an appointment with your superiors? I am not demanding that they abandon any other tasks they may feel are more important at this time. I simply seek an opportunity to ask them what may be required to obtain my brother's remains for burial."

"You can be as polite as you like, Miss High-and-Mighty," he said venomously. "It ain't gonna get you nowhere."

Vash's jaw muscles clenched, and again he felt Shyla's hand urging him to restraint. He didn't like to admit that he needed that reminder. Unfortunately, unlike earlier, she was correct. She was accurate more often than not, truth to tell. He tried to relax, and not enjoy imagining throwing the rude youth through the window hard enough that he'd land across the street.

"Even if I may not gain an appointment with the one in charge of the lab," Shyla persisted with an outward appearance of calm, "surely there is someone between you and them that I may visit, to plead my case?"

"No, and that's final." The officious bureaucrat seemed to take too much delight in turning down the request of one designated as a "natural resource" on No Man's Land.

"I see," Shyla replied, and did not hide her disappointment.

Vash felt her hand on his forearm, again. He was more angry than disappointed, and they both knew it. He needed to get away from this man before he did something he would later regret. He didn't know why his patience was so short when dealing with anyone holding a portion of Knives' remains, but that was often the case.

If the fellow had just troubled himself enough to be polite, perhaps he'd have only been disappointed by this refusal. But this much rudeness, after a long day of doing nothing except worrying that Shyla might use some of her own energy while she worked at healing... well, his patience with nonsense had grown very thin.

"I shall try again," Shyla said. "Plants are people, too. We deserve the same respect that you would extend to any other human."

"Humans, right," the man snorted.

Shyla gave the man a withering glance. "You may have a point, in some cases," she said, slowly looking him up and down.

He flushed, and began sputtering. Good. At least the fellow was intelligent enough to recognize that his own insult had been turned back upon him... with interest.

Vash was too annoyed with him to smile, but he felt better that Shyla had verbally taken the petty young lad down a notch or two.

She pulled on his arm, and he obediently let her lead him out. His fists remained clenched, and he still wanted to feed that pompous nobody a good old-fashioned knuckle sandwich. He was even willing to deliver it with his natural hand, to limit damage.

... and he knew Shyla wouldn't approve, so he tried to stifle the urge as she led him down the street.

He'd best get himself calmed down; else this could be a very long evening.

(I know what you're probably thinking, Mayfly) his thoughts whispered into her mind as gently as he could manage, given his current level of frustration. (And you're probably right. Unfortunately, right now, knowing all that doesn't make me any less inclined to knock him across the street.)

(Time is on our side,) she reminded gently. (And our children can continue instructing and persuading them long after our time ends. One day, your brother will be properly buried. I promise.)

He hoped so. He sincerely hoped so. Five years had passed since Knives' death, and they'd made no progress in reclaiming his remains. _How long will it be_, he wondered, _before ordinary humans fully believe that Plants are people, too?_

He could forgive insults and injuries to himself. But to his family? That was far more difficult.

Would his children, and perhaps grandchildren, also have to suffer as he had? He didn't want that. He didn't want it at all.


	3. Temporary Solutions

_I do not own Trigun/Vash: he belongs to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow._

**Temporary Solutions**

"No, and that's final." The petty bureaucrat seemed to take too much delight in turning down the request of one designated as a "natural resource" on No Man's Land.

"I see," Shyla replied, and did not hide her disappointment.

She laid her hand on Vash's forearm. She could feel that he was more angry than disappointed, so she needed to get him away before he completely lost his temper.

"I shall try again," she said. "Plants are people, too. We deserve the same respect that you would extend to any other human."

"Humans, right," the man snorted.

Shyla gave the man a withering glance. "You may have a point, in some cases," she said, slowly looking him up and down.

He flushed, and began sputtering. Good. He was intelligent enough to recognize that insult, at least.

She began to actively pull on her husband's arm, to get him out of the office.

Vash permitted him to lead her, but he remained tense and irritated.

(I know what you're probably thinking, Mayfly) his thoughts whispered into her mind. (And you're probably right. Unfortunately, right now, knowing all that doesn't make me any less inclined to knock him across the street.)

Shyla smiled, both inside and out. (Time is on our side,) she reminded gently. (And our children can continue instructing and persuading them long after our time ends. One day, your brother will be properly buried. I promise.)

After a few heartbeats, she felt the tension begin to melt away from him. That helped her to feel better.

(I know,) he thought back to her as he began to relax. (I just can't help thinking that I should have claimed his body before they had bits and pieces of him scattered to labs all over the planet.)

(They gave you no choice,) she reminded gently. (They said you could either take away your living wife or your dead brother. I must admit, selfishly... I'm glad you picked me.)

She felt Vash's inner smile, and responded in kind. He wasn't quite relaxed enough to smile outside also, not yet. At least, he wasn't relaxing that much while within sight of the office where that small man still sputtered at his own insult being turned back upon him.

She knew two things that nearly always helped Vash to begin feeling better immediately. So she began steering him toward the nearest bakery, where the swifter of the two cures might be found.

(That's not fair!) his thoughts protested, as soon as he realized where she was taking him. Contrary to his proffered protest, his emotions were almost playful.

Shyla smiled inside and out. Dear Vash, he was nearly always instinctively more inclined to be positive than negative. It seldom took much to tease him out of one of his rare bad moods. (I'd be a poor wife if I didn't know how to sweeten your sour mood when you need it,) she teased.

(You just enjoy tying me into knots around your little finger,) he accused. His emotions turned even more playful with that thought.

(And you can reciprocate by tying me into any position you like,) she responded in kind, (as soon as we reach our hotel room and close the door.)

The resulting spike of warmth and interest made her smile, but did not forewarn her in any way to expect what came next. He swept her into his arms and began kissing her passionately - right there on the sidewalk, in front of God and the whole town!

She tried to be stiff, to keep it short. She felt her face flush with embarrassment. However, this was Vash, her husband, whom she loved very dearly... so it was only a very few heartbeats before she began melting into his embrace and kissing him back with equal passion.

When he finally lifted his mouth away from hers, they both sighed contentedly. (I don't think we need the bakery anymore,) his thoughts suggested.

She smiled, both inside and out, and let him pull her toward their hotel room.

...

Shyla awoke, blinking in the early morning light. She turned to look at the tousled black hair on the pillow beside hers, and her heart filled with such warmth that she could not stay still. Her hand reached out, as if of its own accord. She began to stroke his hair, and gently tease the tangles out of it.

She hadn't meant to wake him, but after a few minutes, he began to stretch, thoroughly yet sleepily... almost like a cat. As always, she enjoyed watching the way his muscles moved so smoothly under his skin.

Seeing Vash move was a delight that she always treasured. The more she could see, the more she enjoyed the view. This morning, the way the blankets were arranged, there was a lot of view to enjoy.

(Stop that!) his thoughts whispered gently. His emotions were an interesting blend of amusement, affection, and desire. (If you keep that up, I'll be very likely to do something about it.)

She sighed. Their morning schedule was a bit too tight for adequate time to enjoy doing anything about it. Some things were best not rushed too much.

(I suppose, given this morning's schedule, you have a point,) she thought back. She let him feel her disappointment... along with her love for him, and that included a distinct interest in what he'd suggested.

He turned his face toward her and smiled. He put both arms over his head, and clasped them. He pushed his hands farther up, arched his back, and stretched his toes as far from his hands as he could.

Shyla's eyes misted. (You're so beautiful,) she thought, her heart feeling so full that it almost hurt.

She saw and felt him quiver, but he finished his stretch. Then he turned toward her, a mischievous grin on his face. (If we're going to be discussing beauty,) he thought, (I'm not convinced that I'm the best example.) With that, he yanked all the blankets away from her before she could prevent it.

(Vash!) she thought, trying to camouflage her surprise and embarrassment so that it appeared like she felt affronted. Even as she tried it, though, she could feel that she was not achieving success. Her arms instinctively attempted to cover her body, also with little success.

(Being married does have certain advantages!) he thought. He carefully kissed her mouth, cheek, neck, and collarbone without touching her anywhere except where he kissed. Then he stopped. (Damn schedule. Maybe we should just miss the sand steamer...)

Shyla lifted a hand to his hair again, suppressing an impulse to giggle. (We're expected, dearest, and we promised,) she reminded him.

(So we did,) he sighed. He rolled, turning his back to her, and swung his feet off the bed.

She heard his feet land on the floor. He was vigorously rubbing at his eyes and face.

(Gently, dearest,) she chided affectionately. (You may need to see out of those eyes sometime today.)

(If you make me turn around, we'll be late for the steamer,) he warned.

She suppressed numerous sassy replies, before finally settling on, (Go ahead and wash first, this morning. It's not like I have the ingredients to fry fresh doughnuts for you here. We'll have to go find some.)

(Thanks,) his thoughts answered affectionately. He stood up and walked into the restroom without looking back.

She took the opportunity to dive into her pajamas, and get something for him to wear. She opened the door barely enough for her hand and the clothes. She felt him take them, and they exchanged a surge of affection before she withdrew her hand and shut the door.

She chose her own clothing, and then began an abbreviated version of their usual morning workout. Away from Seeds village, anything could happen. Staying sharp was important, especially since she was the only one of the pair still able to spread wings to defend them.

Vash had lived by his reflexes for so many years that he could skip a morning workout without it having any notable effect on his speed or accuracy. She, however, had to do something to stay sharp. Her natural reflexes were honed more as a hobby than as a lifestyle, so slacking could reduce performance very quickly.

Vash emerged, fresh and damp... but fully clothed. Drat. Ah well, she really didn't need the distraction, and her emotions could distract him, so it was probably better this way.

"Your turn," he said cheerfully.

"Thanks," she said.

As she began to pass him toward the bathroom, he caught her shoulder with his left hand and brushed some of her hair out of her face with his right. Then he gently kissed her forehead. She smiled at him, and went into the bathroom as soon as he let go of her.

It would likely be another long day. She hoped it wouldn't make either of them too grumpy by evening. She didn't want to have stresses interfering with her ability to enjoy watching the sunset over the desert.


	4. Struggles

_I do not own Trigun/Vash: he belongs to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow._

**Struggles**

Vash stood leaning on the sand steamer's railing, admiring the sunset as the evening winds blew his shoulder-length black hair back away from his face. He glanced down to his right, where his wife stood in almost the same attitude, staring out at the sunset. He wasn't sure which view he preferred: Shyla, or the setting suns.

After a short while, he redirected his gaze back to the sunset. Shyla would feel it if he let himself stare at her for too long, and then she'd worry that he was worried, and that could get complicated. He shifted his feet, adjusting his position for better comfort, and then extended his arm to share his over-wrap with his wife.

She snuggled against his side, and continued watching the setting suns. He smiled, and looked out to enjoy the same view that held her attention.

There was something in the beauty of the setting suns that often calmed his soul. It appeared to have the same effect on Shyla. That made him smile. It felt so good to be both loved and understood, especially after so many centuries of being alone.

That feeling of calm lasted as the moons began to rise, until he got a good look at the fifth moon. Suddenly, he felt a little sick and turned his back to the sky. Shyla moved with him, still snuggled against his right side.

"Let's go in," she suggested. "It's getting cold, and the sunsets are done."

He nodded mutely, and let her lead him in to their room.

"If you're troubled because it's a Friday," she said as they walked, "I'm sure that our Milly is taking good care of Rem, William, and their children."

"I'm sure she is, too," he replied. "I'm just selfish, I guess. I'd like to be there, with you, Rem, and the others."

"After we escort your assignment to the larger prison," she said, "we'll have little cause to leave again anytime soon. Perhaps we can stay as long as she does. I expect we'll want a change of scene after..."

"Yes," was all he said. He didn't want to think about that right now. He opened the door of their room for her. "Are you prepared to be around someone so dangerous? If I understand the reports correctly, this guy isn't going to be easy to transport."

"I already have defensive measures on automatic," she said after they walked in and he'd closed the door behind them. "And I've continued the practice exercises. I don't know how I can be any more ready, though I'm open to suggestions."

"I wish we had a light gun arena here," he said. "A private duel or three might be fun."

She laughed. "When you arrange a truly private duel, we tend to leave rather abruptly."

It was his turn to laugh. He couldn't deny that he generally had mildly impure motives when he paid Security to keep people well away from the room where they dueled. However, since they were married, it wasn't like seducing her was wrong.

"Guilty as charged," he said, still chuckling. "Still, even if it's only 'private' in the sense that we are only dueling each other with an audience and no others are joining the combat, the practice might be good for both of us."

He changed out of his clothing as quickly as he could, but left his body armor on. A quick glance showed Shyla doing the same. He stretched out on their bed, pulling the blankets over himself, and then snuggled against her after she lay beside him.

She adjusted her position to rest her head on his shoulder and arm, and fitted herself tightly against his side. He smiled, enjoying the physical and emotional closeness.

He adjusted the blankets slightly again, and then began to stroke her unbound hair. He couldn't get his mind off Rem, and how she was no longer young. He might as well talk about it. Shyla would understand. "You never asked me what upset me on the night I learned you've been slowing Rem's aging."

"I didn't want to upset you further," she said softly. "I'd honestly thought that you would have wanted..."

"Not at so high a price," he interrupted, equally softly. "Before you had any black hair, I would have been delighted. Now, it's different."

He felt her nod, both inwardly and outwardly.

"What caught my attention was that Rem had a grey hair," he said. "I had always known it would happen someday, but seeing evidence of her aging hit me much harder than I'd expected."

He felt Shyla's arms around him. All at once, he wanted her to hold him. He eased out of her grasp, and shifted himself until his head rested on her shoulder with his arms around her. He felt her initial surprise, and then he felt her warm affection as she put her arms around him again.

Her armor made her torso feel stiff, unlike how soft her body was without it. That didn't trouble him tonight. He was in greater need of emotional intimacy than physical.

"When you reached out to her, and I sensed your energy in your hand, I caught your wrist," he continued. "You have too much black hair already."

He felt her emotional protest, and he answered it in words. "One black hair is too many," he said. "You already have several, a streak as wide as three of my fingers. I don't want you to get any more."

He felt her arms tighten around him, briefly, and then she returned to holding him more gently and stroking his hair. He snuggled into her embrace, comforted more than he'd expected by the combination of her gentle touch and the warm emotions that she shared with him.

"I'm going to miss Rem, when her time runs out," he said softly. "But I know it's better for her to age naturally from now on. She won't want to outlive her husband and children, at least not by a very long time."

He felt his wife continue gently stroking his hair, and his arms tightened around her again. He knew he was safe with her. He could share anything, and she'd continue loving him. That had already been tested, many times.

"It hurts just to think of it," he whispered. "I'm so glad that you'll be there, to help me get through it."

He let the tears come, as she continued holding, comforting and loving him.

...

A few days later, they arrived at their destination. They disembarked from the sand steamer, and walked to the sheriff's office. Each carried a bag of supplies slung over one shoulder, and each wore a deputy marshal's star.

The paperwork was routine. The warning was less so.

"We rounded up at least half the gang, including the leader," they were told. "It's the leader you'll be moving. The gang members who weren't caught have made threats, and may try to take him from you."

Vash nodded solemnly. "We'll do our best," he said.

"We're hoping that moving the leader, and dealing with any resistance, will make moving the others to different places go more smoothly," the hard-eyed woman said. "We're counting on you. Don't let us down."

He nodded again. "Will we be using public transportation, private transportation, or going on foot?" he asked.

"We're providing you with a Thomas-drawn wagon," she said.

_Wonderful_, Vash thought. _The worst option of all... a slow-moving vehicle that could almost be overtaken on foot_. "In that case, I expect you'll be moving some of the others at the same time, using a swifter method of transportation?" he said.

The sheriff's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. "Well, aren't you the sharp one?" she said sarcastically. "Yes, it is an opportunity to slip others away while the focus should be firmly on your movements."

"Why else would a Thomas-drawn wagon be chosen?" he said, and managed a smile. "For other purposes, it would not be the most efficient choice."

"Well, I suppose you have something there," she admitted. "If you don't think you're up to the task..."

"I simply prefer to know in advance what I'm getting myself into," he said. "Ignorance can lead to insufficient preparation, and that can lead to a variety of undesired results."

The sheriff's hard gaze softened a little. "You came with such high recommendations; I thought they must be exaggerating," she said, less sarcastically than before.

"We have skills that have proven useful, in situations like this," he said, shrugging. "All we can do is our best, the same as anyone else. Like you, I hope our best will be enough."

The sheriff glanced at Shyla, her eyes narrowed. "Can you both speak?" she asked.

"Yes," Shyla replied, smiling. "I simply did not wish to be rude by interrupting."

"I see," she said. "How long have you two been a team?"

"That would depend on what type of team you mean," he said. "We have been a team in training at the law enforcement academy for nearly 900 years. We have been married for nearly twenty-five years. She was sworn in as a deputy and assigned to be my partner much more recently."

"Oh!" she said suddenly. "Nate Saverem, that's right. You're that one who's supposed to be half-plant, likely the son of Vash the Stampede?"

"I have heard speculation along those lines, yes," he said calmly.

"Are you trying to tell me that you don't know who your father is?" she said, her face expressing her disbelief loudly.

"I never knew a father, and my adopted mother never mentioned one," he replied truthfully. "All I can say with confidence is that I still live, and that I retain the ability to serve this world as a law enforcement officer, and that I love my wife and family."

He could feel Shyla's blush without seeing it, and he shared his affection with her.

"I have passed all the tests," Shyla added in a soft voice, further eroding the sheriff's skeptical expression. "I was not deputized merely because I am his wife. I had to prove myself, first."

"So you two think you can handle this on your own?" she said.

"I think we shall do our best," he said. "However, if you wish, you may send one or more of your own deputies with us. That would have the advantage of providing someone to drive the Thomas wagon back here after this criminal is safely installed in the larger, higher-security prison."

"George!" the sheriff yelled over her shoulder. "Hank! Front and center, boys."

In response, a short man with salt-and-pepper hair stood and walked to her desk. Another man, nearly as lean as Vash, also rose and came forward.

"Yes, ma'am?" they said.

"George, here, he's our best Thomas-drover," she said. "He'll tend the wagon and the beasts, so you two can keep your attention on this gang leader. Hank can ride in back, with the prisoner."

"Thank you," Vash said quietly. His own skill with Thomases was indifferent at best. If someone was riding with the prisoner, he and Shyla could make a perch atop the prison wagon, and maintain a look-out.

"What would be the best time for us to leave?" he asked. "We are prepared now, or we can wait until after eating, or what ever time suits your plans best."

"And here I thought you'd be an arrogant cuss," the sheriff grumbled amiably. "Eat first, and take that opportunity to get to know George and Hank. We'll be ready in about an hour."

"Any recommendations on where we should eat?" he asked politely.

"Shirley's should do," the sheriff replied. "Reasonable food, reasonably priced, and the guys like the atmosphere."

"Thank you again," Vash said. "We'll return in about an hour." He caught the gaze of each of the men assigned to accompany them, and nodded. "Shall we?" he offered.

They both nodded in reply, and followed him and Shyla out of the office.

"Which way to Shirley's café?" Vash asked.

George laughed, but Hank answered. "It's more of a saloon than a café, but the food's good anyway. And it's this way."

They followed Hank into the saloon and gathered around a table. A waitress in shorts and a low-cut shirt came to distribute menus. She gave Shyla an odd look, then swatted away George's hand before he touched her. "I'll be back in a few to take your orders," she said with an insincere smile before she walked away.

Vash looked over the menu, and noted that the prices were more reasonable than he'd expected. He wondered if the food would pass muster. He'd been spoiled by centuries of Shyla's cooking. Although the scents from the kitchen were not unpleasant, they didn't hold the promise that he'd grown to expect.

He saw Shyla shift uncomfortably, and he caught another scent. He looked around, and saw that there was a stage directly behind him. A woman dressed like the waitress sat down and began playing a piano off to one side of the stage. She apparently wore a strong perfume, the source of the unfamiliar scent he'd caught.

Perhaps the expectation of the two sheriff's men meant a show would begin soon. He turned back toward the table, and noted the expectant expressions they wore as they read the menu. That told him nothing, since it might be either the food or the show that caused such expectation.

He chose Thomas-sausage spaghetti, a dish not easily ruined. He'd often eaten it during his wandering days. He waited patiently for the waitress to return.

The waitress did return with a pad, and took down their orders. Shyla selected Thomas strips and noodles, and requested a glass of water. George and Hank chose two of the most expensive dishes on the menu, with beer.

Vash suppressed an urge to grimace. _I suppose I'm buying_, he realized belatedly. _Oh well_.

The piano music, played on an instrument overdue for tuning, grew louder. The men's faces grew more intensely expectant, and he noticed other customers coming in. His sensitive hearing detected that most were only ordering drinks.

A musky scent began to grow. Uh oh. Was it _that_ kind of a show that this place put on?

He heard shoes on the hollow stage, and risked a quick peek. He turned away quickly, feeling a blush suffusing his face. The dancers wore high heels, and bands of fringes around their necks, waists, and upper arms along with hair ornaments. That was all.

Marvelous. It was _that_ kind of a show. He sighed.

He looked at Shyla, who was frowning. (One cannot say much for their dancing skill,) she commented in thought, (but I don't suppose that's really the point.) She looked at the table top, not blushing but clearly annoyed. (I've never understood how any female can lower herself to that sort of thing. I hope they're not under any sort of force or coercion.)

(Let's see if we can eat on the porch instead? The guys can join us after they've eaten,) he suggested silently.

(Sounds good to me,) Shyla responded.

As one, he and Shyla rose and walked toward the kitchen. Peeking in, he saw the usual bustle one might expect in the kitchen of a place that served food to the general public.

"Hello?" he called. "We were wondering if we might be permitted to eat outside. It's ... quite noisy inside at present, and we enjoy a quiet meal."

A heavy-set man guffawed, and one of the waitresses rolled her eyes. But a tall woman with a no-nonsense look about her came forward, and smiled. "Of course," she said. "There are tables out there. Thank you for informing us that we would have customers using them."

"Our order has already been taken," he said. "I believe our companions would be content to stay inside, but my wife and I prefer the quiet."

"Understood," she said. Her expression suggested that she expected he only wished to avoid the show in order to maintain peace at home. Well, let her think what she wished. Some battles could not be won, and were small enough to not be worth fighting.

"Thank you," he said politely, then led Shyla to the tables on the porch. They sat with their backs to the window, and sighed.

"I hope the report that the food is good isn't too large an exaggeration," Shyla said.

"Agreed," he replied.

Thankfully, the food did prove edible. It wasn't outstanding, but then he was spoiled from eating Shyla's cooking.

They ate in silence, and then waited for the show to end. As anticipated, their traveling companions came out to join them shortly after the stage show finished.

Their hour for eating was complete. It was time to return to the sheriff's office and begin their assigned journey.


	5. Prisoner Transport

_I do not own Trigun/Vash: he belongs to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow._

**Transport**

Vash paid for the meals. When that was done and he returned to the porch, he gestured to Shyla, George and Hank to follow him as he turned his face back to the sheriff's office.

In front of the office, in plain view, was a Thomas-drawn wagon. The back was a large cage, presumably where Hank and the prisoner would sit. The driver's seat already had the reins tied to the brake, and people were fitting the harnesses onto two restless beasts.

There was not, as there should have been, a seat atop the cage.

He glanced at the westering suns, and was thankful the first leg of the journey would be during hours when the world would be growing cooler. The body armors and coats that Seeds had provided to both Shyla and himself were a great help against extreme temperatures, but they weren't always enough for comfort.

He paused to lower his duffel bag from his shoulder, and rummage in it for his over-wrap. The tattered brown cape would serve as a seat-cushion, since neither he nor Shyla could afford to have their behinds or legs "falling asleep" from imperfect circulation. He knew that Shyla would share her cape if the temperatures dropped enough that extra insulation was needed.

He picked up his duffel again, and stowed it under the driver's seat. Then he began to climb the cage.

"What are you, nuts?" Hank asked.

Shyla extracted her cape from her bag, then stowed it beside Vash's, and began climbing up behind him. "It's the best lookout point," Shyla said. "The sooner we see trouble coming, the better we can prepare for it."

Hank snorted, but climbed inside the cage and began inspecting the chains and cuffs that would hold the prisoner captive. He tugged on each, checking that it was securely attached.

George started talking to the other Thomas-handlers, learning particulars of these specific beasts and checking the harnesses they were being urged into wearing.

Vash suppressed an urge to sigh in relief. He'd been nervous that the two deputies assigned to this trip might be incompetents that were the most expendable. He still was not entirely convinced that suspicion was incorrect. Thankfully, each man appeared to have some clue how to do his job. That should make the trip go a little more smoothly.

He watched Shyla pause just before climbing atop the cage, waiting for him to fold his cape into a reasonable seat-cushion. When he finished, and sat with his back to her, she finished clambering up and sat facing the opposite direction. Each would serve as a backrest for the other.

He looked down through the cage to see how other preparations were going, and saw other deputies bringing bags to Hank and George. Those bags were also stowed outside the cage and under the driver's seat, with Vash and Shyla's.

Then the prisoner was escorted out. The brawny fellow was wrestling, kicking, and cussing like there was no tomorrow. A sigh escaped from Vash before he could suppress it. Why were so many prisoners so very rude? He felt Shyla raising an eyebrow, and the corners of his own mouth quirking upward at her amused assessment.

(He must have gotten into crime for lack of intelligence to do anything else,) she thought to him. (His vocabulary is all single-syllable words.)

Vash chose not to comment specifically, but he sent back amusement and affection to her. He tried not to worry about her. She was a very capable person, and would surely prove an asset on this trip. He just wished he could quiet the fear that putting her into danger like this wouldn't result in something terrible happening to her.

He heard Shyla unsnap the holster strap that held her gun into place as he unsnapped his own. That left both weapons fully holstered, yet able to be drawn immediately if some need should rise. Something in the way the sheriff looked at them while the prisoner was being wrestled into the cage suggested that a need would come. Perhaps that need would even come soon, instead of later.

He nodded at the sheriff, who nodded in return.

Finally, the reluctant prisoner was secured inside the cage. The sheriff locked him and her deputy in, and then tossed the key up to Vash. He caught it out of the air, and smiled at her. "If all goes well, your men should return with the wagon in about a week," he said. "If something slows us down, however, it could be a few days longer."

"Be careful out there," she said. She sounded less sarcastic than she had earlier.

"We'll do our best," Vash replied.

George slapped the reins on the Thomases; they groaned and began moving at a brisk walk. Hank waved at his co-workers as the wagon pulled away.

Vash and Shyla also waved, that being the polite and neighborly thing to do.

(Keep sharp, Mayfly,) Vash warned in thought. (I have a bad feeling about this.)

The quicksilver of her inner laughter washed over him. (No, really?) her thought came with exaggerated innocence in the tone. (They'd not have imported marshal deputies if they thought they could handle it themselves.)

(I'd hoped it was merely a matter of manpower, in so small a town,) Vash admitted privately to his wife. (They might have had too few deputies for all the current needs.)

(A plausible theory, Dearest,) she replied. (Unfortunately, local circumstances suggest otherwise.)

(Yes, sadly, they do.)

They began a silent contest to spot unusual things out on the desert. When nothing mildly unusual presented itself, they told each other whatever jokes they could recall at that moment. They both knew that rocking motion of the Thomas wagon must not be permitted to lull them into drowsiness.

When the anticipated attack came, it was almost a relief.

Both suns had set two hours prior, and they were well away from the town. Four of the five moons were up, providing plenty of light.

The prisoner's gang came on Thomas-back, firing and making demands. Vash simply shot at their saddle-cinches. This startled the ridden Thomases, and the bandits fell off their mounts into the sand.

Shyla's wings were on automatic, and stopped a few bullets that might otherwise have injured one or both of them. They couldn't move to dodge as well as usual, when limited to the small area that was the top of the cage. Vash made a mental note to add a category to light-gun training that limited how far the participant's feet could move.

As he watched the bandits recede into the night, another thought crossed his mind. "I hope they have canteens on them, and not only on their mounts," Vash said.

He heard Hank's guffaw, and felt Shyla's inner smile responding to that spoken wish.

Four hours later, they stopped to camp for the night. Vash unlocked the cage to let Hank out, and then relocked it with the loudly complaining prisoner inside.

When camp was ready for the night, Vash escorted their reluctant prisoner out to a rock where he could empty his bladder. The fellow failed to appreciate the courtesy at first. Vash pointed out to him in no uncertain terms that he could leave him locked up without potty-breaks if that was preferred. The man fell silent, and did what he needed to do with only glares of protest.

Vash put him back in the cage, and locked it securely. Then he pocketed the key again, and went to where Shyla had made a bed for them.

"Who's on first watch shift?" he asked.

"You are," George said.

Hank quickly agreed.

(Wake me when you're weary,) Shyla offered. (Somehow, I don't think these two will be the best watchmen. We can handle that between us, though, so it won't be a problem.)

(Agreed,) he said. (If we'd not been given a drover and a man to watch the prisoner, we'd be doing all the watching plus those jobs ourselves anyway.)

He watched over the camp as the other three men subsided into snores, and as Shyla's breathing became deep and even. He paced around the perimeter, and then walked through the middle to make sure neither of the men woke up and got any lecherous ideas about Shyla sleeping there apparently defenseless.

He repeated that circuit constantly for about four hours. Then he knelt by Shyla and gently shook her shoulder. (I'm getting sleepy,) he admitted.

She smiled. (I guess that makes it my turn, then,) she thought. (I'll wake everyone at daybreak.)

(Wake me,) he suggested. (I'll wake the others.)

(As you like,) she responded.

He settled down to sleep.

...

The gang made another effort the following evening. They'd acquired a truck, and were trying to jump off it to climb on the cage. Shyla shot out the tires, and Vash kicked the climbers off the wagon. Again, the gang members receded into the desert as George slapped the Thomas reins to encourage greater speed.

The third day, nothing of note happened except that George and Hank got themselves so drunk they looked at Shyla in a way Vash wouldn't tolerate. So they spent the night locked in with the prisoner, to prevent them from carrying out any of the things they talked about trying with his wife.

The fourth day they arrived in the town that was their destination, and transferred the prisoner to their custody without undue difficulty. When they returned from completing the paperwork, they found Hank throwing their bags off the wagon as he sat beside George on the driver's seat.

Vash tossed them the key to the cage, and they immediately drove off without so much as saying farewell. He shrugged, looking at Shyla.

(I think they're still annoyed that you locked them in the cage,) she thought with amusement.

(The way they were behaving,) he grumbled, (they didn't leave me much choice.)

(Sadly, they're little removed from the criminals they work with,) Shyla agreed. (At least we can return home now.)

(Yes, we can,) he thought, brightening. (It's been over a month, and I'm eager to get back. Let's get onto the first transportation out of here that's going the correct direction, even if that's our own feet!)

(After we visit the lab,) she suggested. (Or do you want to obtain transportation while I tend that?)

(I'll come with you.)

(They won't understand that he's your brother,) she reminded gently. (They'll not recognize your grief.)

(I know,) he thought, and let her feel how he braced himself against the coming debate.

He felt her affection in response, and that she was proud of him. He responded with the same toward her.

They picked up their bags, and began walking toward the lab. Neither expected a miracle on this visit, either, but they had to keep trying.


	6. Gentle Times

_I do not own Trigun/Vash or Rem: they belong to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow._

**Gentle Days**

These last sixty years have mostly passed quietly. That's not a complaint, mind you! It's simply a fact that I hope will bring some peace to my husband's soul when he remembers them.

Vash and I have seldom left Seeds village during the last six decades, except twice when there were extremely dire emergencies that truly required our skills. We both want to be near Rem as much as we can, for whatever time she has left.

Rem Saverem Reeve, Vash's human mother, is an amazing person. This world will be a poorer place when she leaves it. I feel so blessed to have known her directly, and not only from his memories.

I still remember holding him the night he became fully aware that she was aging, as he cried himself to sleep. I'd not seen him cry like that for centuries. I had hoped those things that pained him so much had finally healed.

Unfortunately, this pain can't heal until the event he dreads is past. Nor can I wish that event will come sooner, that he may begin healing.

We have continued hosting evenings with Rem and her family at least once a week. When her four children grew up and left their home, we started inviting Rem and William over twice each week. They have always seemed pleased to be invited, and have always come early and stayed late.

Sometimes we sing, and other times we might dance; sometimes we do both. At times, we pass a book around and take turns reading it aloud. Other times we just sit and talk over current events, or else reminisce about old times.

Each of those evenings has been pleasant. Each time spent together is a memory to treasure.

Vash has continued working as an instructor at the Academy for law-enforcement hopefuls. He teaches combat. His special expertise is firearm combat, taught mostly using the light-gun arenas. However, he also teaches hand-to-hand and knife combat tactics and maneuvers. He puts in long hours, on days when Rem isn't expected, to help each student reach his or her full potential.

On weekends, when he's not teaching and I am not needed at the infirmary, Vash and I can be found working on the memorial garden plot we purchased to be a resting place for Rem and her family. It is located just beyond the apple orchard. We have built a round courtyard out of cobblestones.

The cobblestone-paved courtyard surrounds a patch of ground large enough to bury both Rem and William. There is plenty of room available around the outside of the courtyard, where their children and descendants can be buried.

There are four paths into that courtyard, coming from northwest, northeast, southeast and southwest. Between the paths, around the edges of the courtyard, are raised planters with red geraniums. Over the place where Rem and William will be buried, we have planted scarlet pimpernels. An apple tree is planted on either side of each path into the courtyard.

As the various horticultural species grow, it is becoming a very pleasant and peaceful place. We have placed stone benches along the inner curve of the geranium planters, and Vash says it's becoming almost like a park on Old Earth.

Sometimes, Rem and William come and picnic there with us on Saturdays. They understand that it is a labor of love, and they both seem to appreciate it. Vash won't let them assist, but they keep us company while we work.

It took a few years after their children married before they began coming to the "family evenings" again. My Vash has wrestled with the children and grandchildren of Ranita, Vash Reeve, William Junior, and Constance. They have all grown up loving him.

The youngest generation is now grown enough to just begin thinking about dating. I hope that Rem will live long enough to see at least some of her great-great grandchildren.

Rem and William are growing so frail, though... if Vash hadn't forbidden me to regenerate them every now and then, I'd be doing it. In fact, I'd probably be healing them oftener than I should, which is exactly why Vash has forbidden it. I can't dispute his wisdom, but sometimes I still squirm at the restriction.

My husband's heart is not the only one that aches at the awareness that their lifespans are so short. I shall miss them greatly, too, when ever their days run out.

Vash does an amazing job of pushing that awareness out of his mind while we are with them. He is truly happy during those times when we are all together. However, once they leave and the door closes behind them, I must be ready to catch him as he allows himself to remember how fleeting such gatherings will be.

Each of those nights, after we turn in, I hold him while he cries himself to sleep. My own eyes are far from dry, too. Yet they are worth this pain. It is better than not knowing them, or pulling away from them, which are the only alternatives I know.

Physically, Rem must be somewhere in her early to middle nineties by now. I'm starting to pamper her and William more than formerly, wanting them to know that I still appreciate them, too.

William's hair has slowly faded from its flaming red-orange to blonde to white. He seems to grow thinner with each passing week. Rem can see this, too, and I expect it pains her even more than it does me. She's doing a good job of remaining cheerful for him, but I can sometimes see the sorrow in her eyes... usually, when she thinks he's not looking.

Rem's hair is almost entirely grey now: only a few dark streaks remain. She is also thinner than she was. So far, she remains mostly spry and hale. Her children are beginning to scatter a little. Not all of her grandchildren have stayed in Seeds village, and some of her great-grandchildren know it only from brief visits every four or five years.

I hope it won't hurt Vash too much if some of her descendants choose to live elsewhere, and be buried where they lived.

Ah, it's time to take the apple turnovers out of the oven and make dumplings for today's picnic. The tea is nearly brewed, and the sandwiches are nearly assembled.

I'd best stop daydreaming, and finish making lunch so that I don't arrive late and make hungry people needlessly impatient!


	7. A Fond Farewell

_I do not own Vash the Stampede or Rem; they belong to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow._

**A Fond Farewell**

Vash lifted the frail hand in his, and pressed it against his tear-streaked cheek.

Rem was sleeping, for the moment. Her heartbeat was weak, but steady. She was fading fast in recent days. Too soon would come the hour when she would never wake again.

He knew he could live without her. He'd been compelled to do that before. He hadn't enjoyed it, though.

He'd already lost her once. It was difficult to know he must let her go again. He was thankful that the first time had not been forever. So many years of happy memories, of seeing Rem happy, of seeing her with his children, of seeing her own children grow... no, he would not have traded those times for anything.

The blessing of more time with her had not made her any less dear to him.

He needed to be strong, while she lasted. He could weep for her after she was gone, while he buried her and further garnished her resting place.

William was already buried there, almost fifteen years ago. Shyla's efforts to prolong Rem's life, before he stopped her, were likely at least partly responsible for her still being alive today.

He was deeply grateful for every hour, even while she slept. Her silver hair spread over the pillow, and her slightly withered limbs rested comfortably under the blankets. Her infirmary room was alive with different varieties of red flowers, including prominently-placed blooming red geraniums.

He felt Shyla enter the room. It was her usual shift here at the infirmary, and Rem was one of her patients. Unfortunately, there was no cure for extreme old age in a human. All that could be done was to make her as comfortable as possible, and not leave her alone.

His wife's arms slipped around his waist, and her cheek rested on his shoulder. He leaned back into her embrace without releasing Rem's hand.

(Are they coming?) he asked in thought.

(Yes,) she replied. (Ours are getting hers. They should all arrive by evening, if not sooner. She will have the joy of seeing them all again.)

(Good, thank you,) he thought, relieved. He shared his gratitude and affection, and received her warmth in return.

(She told me not to trouble them, if you can imagine that,) Shyla mused fondly. (She felt it would be a needless interruption in their lives. I sent our children to contact them anyhow, and each has chosen to come.)

Vash shook his head, and smiled fondly. Rem sometimes underestimated her own value. He was thankful that neither his children nor hers made the same mistake, but instead that all of them valued dear Rem nearly as much as she deserved.

He leaned his head back onto his wife's neck and shoulder, and let the ache leak into their link. He felt her arms tighten around him, and a warmth of support along with a similar pain. Yes, she would understand completely. It was one of many things that he valued about her. She would help him get through this.

He allowed himself to be comforted, needing that aid to be strong for the next time Rem awoke. He needed to show Rem his love, not his pain, during her last hours or days.

...

Rem's friends and family did a constant rotation of visiting her by twos or by threes when she was awake. They dared not have more people than that in her room at a time, else she would become too tired and grow weaker as she fell asleep.

It allowed everyone who knew her to say good-bye to her.

Vash stood as door-guard when it was not his turn to be inside. He'd obtained permission to have a leave of absence from teaching, so that he might be with Rem as much as possible while she faded away.

His hearing was sensitive enough that he couldn't help eavesdropping. He found her words to each of her friends and kin to bear the same affectionate wit and wisdom that he'd always valued in her. He was not ashamed to let her visitors see his tears, that they might know a little of how much he also valued her.

It hurt worse, in some ways, than when Shyla's human mother passed. She'd already been old when Vash met her, and he'd only known her for eighteen years. He had done his best to comfort Shyla and help her get through it, though he mourned her passing almost as deeply as Shyla had.

Rem... he had known her his entire life. Her words, and the memory of her, had sustained him through so many difficult and terrible times. Memory of her love for him had made the good times better.

When she was restored to him, after nearly two hundred years of believing she was dead, he was initially shocked, but then elated. He cherished every hour they had together.

It was very difficult to stand honor guard, and allow others in to see her while he was himself barred. Yet it was one of the few ways he could show support to both the living and the dying. Shyla and his children kept sending him their love, which he reciprocated in full. It helped, more than he had words to express.

...

A day came when it seemed likely that Rem lacked the strength to survive any longer.

Rem asked for a brief visit with each of her friends first, followed by her immediate biological children, and then, a few at a time, her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She grew noticeably weaker with each visit, though each visit lasted only a few minutes.

Vash began to fear she wouldn't last through everyone, and to wonder why he had not been asked to return to her room. He had a terrible sinking feeling that he might have offended her in some way, and that tore at his heart worse than losing her.

She rested for an hour. After that, she asked to see Vash's children, each set of twins from eldest to youngest. Rem and Naomi visited her, followed by Nicholas and Alex, Sheryl and Lina, Brad and Livio, and finally Tessla and Milly. Each came out weeping, and hugged their father as they passed.

"Vash." His name was scarcely a whisper, but he heard it and went into her room.

"I knew you'd be near," Rem said weakly, and smiled. "Shyla, too?"

(Shyla, Rem wants us,) Vash thought to his wife. "She's coming," he said gently.

"Good," Rem said softly. She closed her eyes, but he knew she wasn't sleeping. Whatever she wanted to say, it seemed that she wanted both to hear it from her own lips.

He took her nearest hand with his natural hand, and squeezed gently. Rem smiled again, and squeezed back. Her grip had grown so weak that he could barely detect it.

"I'm here, Rem," Shyla said softly as she entered the room only a minute or two later.

"Vash, dear, would you hold me please?" Rem whispered. "I want to feel your arms around me..."

He immediately took her into his arms, helping her sit up only a very little bit.

"Thank you," Rem whispered weakly. "You grew so strong, and so well... better than I could have hoped or imagined. I could never have asked for a better son than you. Nor could I have chosen a better daughter for him than you, Shyla."

He kissed her forehead. "You inspired me," he said gently. "Without you, I'd never have become half so good as I am. And I was just lucky that Shyla wanted me."

"You shouldn't lie to your mother," she whispered, smiling weakly again. "Much of who you are was already inside you. I'm proud that you chose to be so good, Vash. I know that cannot have been easy, the way this world is."

He leaned his cheek against her head, still gently cradling her in his arms. He felt Shyla's arms slip around his waist, and sent affectionate gratitude to her for that gesture.

"The memory of you strengthened me," he said sincerely. "I wasn't lying."

"Exaggerating, then," she whispered. Her whisper was growing weaker. He squeezed her very gently, fearing he might cause pain.

"I love Shyla, too," Rem whispered softly. "For your sake at first, and later for herself. But I always loved you most, Vash."

Rem stiffened a little, as if trying to hold off the inevitable just a little longer. "I have always loved my first little boy. After knowing you grown into a man, I still loved you so very much. I will always love you..."

Rem exhaled slightly, like a faint but peaceful sigh. Then she went completely limp. The monitor alarms sounded off, indicating a cessation of life signs.

Shyla let go of him just long enough to turn off the blaring alarms, and then returned to hold him more tightly than before. He felt her tears soaking through the shoulder of his shirt.

After another moment, the shock wore off. The only heartbeats he felt were his own, and Shyla's behind him. Rem's heart had gone silent.

Vash bowed his head and wept inconsolably, instinctively clinging to the body that used to house his mother.

...

One hundred and fifty years after Rem's death, Vash and Shyla still continued visiting her grave. They plucked a few geraniums from the planters, and laid them over the place she was buried.

Over the years, most of Rem's descendants had gradually moved away from Seeds village. They lived and died far off, and were buried there instead of here. Each time one of Rem's descendants passed, Vash would offer them a place here. However, most of their families chose to keep the remains of their loved ones nearer to where they had lived.

So it happened that most of the memorial park was a garden with no graves. It became a historical park. Children from all over came to read about the woman who single-handedly saved humanity during the Great Fall.

Seeds Village people maintained the park, proud to preserve that piece of No Man's Land's heritage.

Vash, Shyla, and their children were the only ones who still came to mourn. However, it pleased them that Rem was still remembered, and honored, by those she risked everything to save.

...

...

...

...

... _continued in_ "Journeys and Quiet Times."


End file.
